


Burst

by OnstageSport



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Spot Conlon is prideful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 03:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11774544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnstageSport/pseuds/OnstageSport
Summary: Spot is too proud to accept help and he ends up in the hospital because of it.





	Burst

Spot Conlon did _not_ get sick. If he ever did, he wouldn’t let anybody know about it. They would just see him as weak and pity him, and he did not want that—especially not from any of the Manhattan boys. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

However, for almost a week, he had been experiencing stomach pains, a climbing fever, and occasional vomiting that he refused to acknowledge beyond occasional groans. If anyone showed the slightest bit of concern, he would growl that he “didn’t _get_ sick.”

The first time he gave any indication that something was wrong past grunting was during one of the monthly movie nights hosted in Jack Kelly’s apartment. Of the several people piled in front of the television, he was the only one not from Manhattan but he had managed to maintain a truce with all of them.

Throughout the first half of the film, he had clutched his stomach and groaned, often getting shushed in the process. He would flip off whoever chastised him, and return to watching the movie. During the second half of the movie, Spot’s pain grew even worse. He groaned loudly, wincing.

“C’mon! Cut it out! This is the best part,” Mush complained through a mouth full of popcorn, gesturing to the screen.

“Are you okay?” Crutchie asked Spot, one of the few who seemed genuinely concerned. If Spot wanted attention, he wouldn’t go about it by acting pathetic.

“No,” Spot lashed out, rising to his feet. He held onto the arm of the sofa, struggling to keep his balance. “Augh, call an ambulance.”

The rest of the Manhattan boys snickered at the request. Spot had been claiming he was fine just an hour earlier.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Spot spat at them, clutching his side. He stumbled as he tried to get to the door. “Get me to a hospital _right now_.”

That prompted the Manhattan boys to take action. Race and Jack got on either side of him, holding him up despite his weak protests that he could walk just fine. Mush, Davey, Finch, and Albert followed close behind, wanting to help if they could. Crutchie was the one to call for the ambulance before joining the rest of the boys.

 

Most of the Manhattan boys had to find their own way to the hospital since only Race had managed to lie his way into the ambulance with Spot, claiming to be his brother. Upon arrival at the hospital, Spot had been rushed to the emergency room and Race had to just sit and wait for any news. The rest of their friends arrived, sans Davey but Jack explained that he had to go home and tell Les what had happened, and Race could do nothing but shrug when they asked about Spot.

When they were finally allowed into his room—two at a time, the nurse insisted but that didn’t stop them all from piling in at once. They all clamored for answers, overwhelming the drowsy Spot.

“All of you, out,” he requested meekly, waving his hand to brush them away. It was the saddest command any of them had ever seen from Spot and they weren’t sure if they should actually obey it.

“You heard the man,” Race repeated, ushering the other five boys out. “Scram. Get out of here.”

Once they were all gone, he turned back to Spot with a triumphant smile.

“You too, Higgins.”

Race gasped and clapped a hand over his heart. 

“Your own _brother_?”

Spot snorted. “You know that only works if I don’t know we aren’t brothers, right?”

“How do you know we _aren’t_?” Race asked in return, immediately humming the _X-Files_ theme.

“Ha, you seen your ugly mug?” Spot laughed, settling in against the pillow sleepily.

“And you don’t see the resemblance?” Spot didn’t respond as he tried to get comfortable enough to sleep. He shifted onto his side the wrong way and groaned at the pressure. “What’s wrong with you anyway?”

“Appendix,” Spot muttered sleepily. “Now could you get outta here? Don’t watch me sleep like a creep.”

Race laughed and wished him, “Good night, Sleeping Beauty” as he headed for the door. Spot flipped him off. Once he was at the doorway, he hesitated for a moment only to whisper that he was glad Spot was alive.


End file.
